A Walk to Forget
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Carson/Hughes in the early days when she was head housemaid. AU, oneshot. Angst.
1. Chapter 1

**Set when they were still under-butler and head housemaid. Oneshot. Angst. Wonderful idea- which I hope I've done justice to- from 013bela. **

"Charles," he had already known from her posture, never mind the tone of her voice, that this was not going to be good news, "I'm sorry. This just isn't working."

She had asked him to come for a walk down to the village with her. Explaining hastily to Mr Graves that they were out of silver polish- and hoping against hope that the butler would not take it upon himself to investigate and find that they were not- had put on his coat and followed her out of the back door. It was her half-day off. Snow covered the ground thickly, crunching under their feet as they walked along in the awful frozen silence after this remark. They had long since broken away from the path that would take them most directly to the village.

"Tell me you're not angry with me."

He looked down at her, watching him with worried eyes, matching the merest fraction of begging that he had heard in her voice. Cautiously, he reached his hand out and brushed it against her thick curls, which were miraculously warm in the freezing air.

"No, I'm not," he assured her, though he was a little angry that it had come to this it was certainly not with her, "If I'm honest, I've been expecting it for a while now."

She sniffed and he took his hand away from her head, resuming their steady pace over the white ground. He knew where they were headed, where they had headed without so much as a second thought, and he was fairly sure she did too. Letting out a heavy sigh, a torrent of his breath condensed on the icy air. He was glad of the cold; it was numbing him nicely.

"You see, I'm sure they were about to find us out," she continued, "I think they've been guessing about us for a while now. It's not that I'm ashamed," she added quickly, throwing him an anxious glance, "It's that they have the power to throw us out for it. And as you know, then-..."

"We'd have to get married," he finished for her.

"Yes."

Their steps slowed as they reached their destination- not the village- but where they'd both decided to go to without talking about it; the old overgrown orchard at the edge of the estate. They were sure not to be overheard there; they were the only people who ever ventured here.

"Of course, it's not that I don't want to marry you," she assured him, gently, but with a definite air of discomfort.

He knew he should look her in the face as she told him this, but he found he couldn't, in case he lost hold over himself. Instead, he looked up at the spindly barren branches of the trees, thin coverings of snow and ice coating them. It was eerily quiet here, not at all like it had been in the springtime when the breeze fluttered the leaves gently, when the blossom had been out. When they'd lain down beneath the trees, talking about anything, anything in the world except work. When one day, he'd completely forgotten himself and made love to her for the first at the foot of a cherry tree. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to remember _that _now. She was still talking.

"It's just, we've no money. We wouldn't manage, Charles, it wouldn't be sensible. I wish we could," she paused for a moment, "But we would never manage."

He was quiet for a moment, wondering how best to answer that; how to let her know that he wasn't angry with her, but was still as upset by the notion as she was. He looked down from the branches and at her.

"I wish we could too." 

He hoped the longing didn't tell too much in his voice, but perhaps that was in vain. Gently, she slipped her gloved hand into his and squeezed. She leant in towards him, resting her head against his arm. They stood still both surveying the scene before them; the place they had come to think of as being so warm now frozen over by an invading external force.

"We'd have been so perfect," he heard her whisper, "In another life."

His face smarted as a tear trickled down his cheeks. Thankfully, he didn't think she saw.

"I know," he replied, his voice deep to disguise the emotion there.

But she was crying too, he heard a sob hitch in her breath and turned to look at her. Tears were flowing down her cheeks and she was making no attempt to disguise them. Briefly forgetting that holding her like this would only make it all the harder when he finally let her go, as he now knew he had to, he took her in his arms, tight to his chest and let her cry.

"I wish things were different," she told him, though it was futile, both because he already knew as much and because there was no way on this earth that things could be different.

"I know."

There was no explaining how much he loved this woman, not even being able to qualify it to himself. He knew she was a wonderful person, knew she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever set eyes upon, and yet still he could not possibly understand how he had come to feel like this. She had evoked emotions in him that he hadn't known he was capable of; that he hadn't known existed. And he dearly wished that he could tell her as much then, thanked her for the most wonderful year of his life, but he knew he couldn't even if he could have found the right words. Because then there would be no letting go at all.

"Thank you, Charles." 

There, they were the words. He knew as she spoke them, she was thanking him for more than just holding her then. But he wasn't prepared for what happened next; when she stood on her tiptoes and planted a soft chaste kiss against his lips. He inhaled sharply, the icy air hitting the back of his throat, only to be replaced by the familiar feeling of her mouth against his. And with the same abandonment that had overpowered him that day under the tree, he drew her close to him and kissed her back with the full fervour of everything he'd wanted to say. This could not be the end, not when feelings like these raged in them both. And he would always be there, should she ever change her mind. He knew that, though he was still relatively young, he wouldn't- couldn't- ever again have any lover but her.

"I know," she said when they broke away, "I know. Thank you, Charles."

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	2. Chapter 2

**If a oneshot is allowed to have an epilogue, then here is that epilogue. **

"Come on, Anna, hurry up!"

Gracious, Anna thought irritably to herself, Mrs Hughes was certainly in a bad mood today. She put on her coat- it being quite a chilly day for May- and hurried down the corridor from the coat pegs to where the housekeeper waited for her on the back step. Mrs Hughes, despite the low temperature, was not wearing a coat, though she folded her arms across her chest as if cold. Seeing that Anna was there, she began leading the way from the house and through the grounds.

"Mrs Hughes, where are we going?" Anna asked, as it occurred to her that she did not know herself.

She had only been told that her Ladyship had charged Mrs Hughes with some task or other relating to the garden party- as most tasks were at this time of year- and that she, Anna, was to put on her coat and come and help her.

"To the orchard," Mrs Hughes' tone, Anna thought, seemed to be very short. She turned to look at the housekeeper who was striding determinedly on, her face set in half a frown. She seemed almost too business-like, even for Mrs Hughes. Anna wondered if the strain of having to organise the garden party wasn't telling on her; though she had never known it to before.

"Her Ladyship was wondering if it mightn't be pleasant to set up some tables for the guests there," Mrs Hughes continued, "And she wondered if you and I would assess the situation."

It did not appear to Anna as if Mrs Hughes was in the mood to answer any further questions, so she followed on quietly, having to make an effort to keep up with Mrs Hughes' energetic pace. Thus, at this speed, they arrived at the orchard quite quickly although it was at the far edge of the estate. So far, in fact, that Anna didn't think she'd ever set foot in there before today.

It had been neglected to say the least; obviously everyone else was mostly unaware of its existence too. Not that there were many weeds, a few here and there, but the most obvious sign of having been left for years was the way the branches of fruit trees had grown unrestrained into a kind of ceiling. The grass was long and interspersed with random flowers growing here and there. It was very beautiful in a disorganised kind of a way; Anna thought she liked it a great deal better than some other areas of the estate, but it was unlikely that either Mrs Hughes or her Ladyship would deem it a suitable place for their guests to sit. She wandered about a little, quite happy to explore it.

"It'll need a lot of work," she remarked to Mrs Hughes, still casting her eyes around the orchard.

There was no reply. Usually Mrs Hughes was very punctual in offering her opinion on any subject. Anna turned around, looking for the housekeeper, a little concerned by this silence but nowhere near expecting the sight that met her when she saw her. Mrs Hughes was standing quite still, only a little way into the orchard. Crying. Not making a big deal of it, just standing in an orchard crying. Anna hadn't known that the word was in Mrs Hughes' vocabulary and felt a little guilty for having been irritated with her before. Judging by the ill disguised anguished expression, her short manner beforehand could easily be pardoned. It also occurred to her that she probably wasn't doing a great deal to comfort her.

"Mrs Hughes?" she asked hesitantly, the thought that she might just be seeing things surfacing briefly, "Mrs Hughes, are you alright?"

That theory was pushed aside when the housekeeper gave a hearty sniff. Anna must be hearing things as well, that or Mrs Hughes really was crying.

"Yes," she answered, her face somewhat belying her, "Yes, thank you, Anna. Oh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't do this in front of you. I'm just being silly."

It looked substantially more than being silly to Anna, the housekeeper's shoulders were visibly shaking and Anna wondered again that she hadn't wanted to put on her coat.

"It's just this place," Mrs Hughes continued, "It's years since I've been here. I-... memories," she finished rather hopelessly, "Memories."

As she wiped her eyes furiously on her handkerchief, Anna wondered if there was perhaps something that Mrs Hughes had momentarily considered telling her but had stopped herself.

"Would you like to go back?" she asked, thinking that if it was in fact the place they were in that had upset her it would be best to leave.

Mrs Hughes nodded wearily.

"Yes, thank you, Anna. I think that would be best."

The housekeeper turned rather unsteadily to go- that was what finally made Anna decide. Normally she would not have dared to be so presumptuous as to try and hug the housekeeper even to comfort her, but in her moment of unsteadiness she reached out and wrapped an arm around the older woman's waist. Although at first she fully expected to be reprimanded, Mrs Hughes said nothing, in fact Anna felt her relax a little against her. Encouraged, Anna guided her steadily back towards the house, wondering at how surreal this situation was. If Gwen had reported this to her, she would have had difficulty believing it.

Once they reached the house, Anna resolved to remove her arm when they'd crossed the back step; she knew Mrs Hughes wouldn't want the whole house knowing about what had happened. However, they were spotted before she could do so. Mr Carson had been going into his pantry when the odd sight of the housekeeper having to be supported as she walked met his eyes.

Anna could not quite account for what happened next. Mrs Hughes, having recovered herself quite substantially on the walk back across the grounds simply saw the butler and burst into fresh tears- not like before- strong unrestrained sobs. Anna was quite prepared to make some, probably ridiculous, excuse to Mr Carson but was then equally stunned by what he did. Apparently having taken one look at Mrs Hughes' face, he strode forward and took her into his arms. He kissed her hair. Half-shocked, half-touched by the sight before her, Anna began to feel embarrassed by intruding on such an intimate situation. She was very relieved when Mr Carson guided the housekeeper into his pantry.

"What happened, Anna?" he asked in a hushed voice at the door.

"I don't know," she confessed, "She just-... We were at the orchard and she just-..." 

"The orchard?" 

Anna nodded. There was a look of what she could only call comprehension on the butler's face.

"Thank you, Anna. Leave it to me."

And with that the door was shut.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Epilogue for an epilogue. Because I didn't grossly misjudge the length of a fic. Again. I felt absolutely emotionally hammered after writing this. **

She sat down on the settee rather heavily, playing with her handkerchief in her clasped hands, crying quietly now. Her head was bowed but he could tell nevertheless. There was no way for him to get around what he knew: she had been _there _and she was crying. It was very likely that he was the cause of her tears. Cautiously, he sat down beside her and, almost tremulously, put a hand around hers to try and comfort her. In the movement, he was very aware that she might want to snatch her hands back straight away. He waited a second and when she did not pull away it was an undeniable relief.

"Your hands are freezing," he told her, "You must have been mad not to have had a coat on."

She was quiet for a second- a quiet that he got a definite feeling of dread from.

"I had a coat on the last time I went to the orchard," she reminded him, "I-... I didn't want it to feel too familiar."

But it evidently had, he thought, otherwise why would she be crying? He clenched his jaw a little; he had never in all the time he'd known her, even before he'd know he loved her, been able to watch her in pain. He didn't know what to say; he was convinced now that she was remembering that day, and he knew that now they had started they would have to talk about it for the first time in over fifteen years. But he didn't know where to start; equally convinced that there was no easy way on earth to go about it. So he waited until she was ready.

"You do remember, don't you?" she asked hesitantly.

Remember! The days he didn't relive it were few and far between. Not that he tried to, it would have been more than convenient for him to be able to forget all about it. Just the sight of her brought it back sometimes; the way she stood, the way she sometimes gazed off into space when she wasn't concentrating. Little innocuous things in her manner could bring back the stinging memory of how she'd left him that day. And thus it had never really got the chance to heal.

"Yes," he replied, wondering if his voice conveyed how much of an understatement that was, "Yes, I do."

Apparently, it did, and she heard it. She blinked at him a little, as if she felt rather foolish. There were still tear tracks on her cheeks though it looked like she had stopped crying.

"I'm sorry, Charles," she whispered, "I never meant to hurt you for one second; though I know I did. I truly didn't want to leave you, I just, I didn't think there was any other way."

"I know," he assured her, tracing her knuckle gently with his thumb, "I know. You did what was best."

"No, I didn't," she replied flatly, "I should never have left you. I've regretted it all these years, and today-..." fresh tears sprang up in her eyes, but he was ready to wipe them away as they fell down her face, "Going there brought it all back and I felt so awful. Can you forgive me, Charles?" she asked, her voice wavering dangerously.

"I already have," he told her, "I promise. I know you had your reasons and I always respected that. No matter how much it... hurt."

With the word, her breath hitched into a new sob, about to cry again but he beat her to it. He planted a soft kiss on her damp cheeks, the best way he'd ever known to comfort her, kissing the familiar skin as tenderly as he knew how, kissing her face again and again, steadying it with his hands which a second later were covered by hers.

And he could not stop kissing her, over her forehead and down the other side of her face, finally to her lips; where he was glad to say she responded. They broke apart resting their brows against one another and another flicker of devastating familiarity flew through him.

"I've missed you, Elsie," he confessed, "I know you've still been here for me as a good friend, more than good in fact. But I've missed you as a lover."

There: he'd said it. The thought that had been there like a lump in his throat since that very day finally past his lips. Her eyes, having been calmly closed, flicked open, looking into his own, more boldly than she done up until now.

"I still am your lover, Charles," she told him, then, as if he might want an explanation as to why, "No one else ever came along."

Now that wasn't quite true, he thought. There had been plenty of footmen who would have gladly taken over from him. But then, that wasn't quite what she meant. In spite of all of the emotions- not all of them completely happy- floating around in him, he could not quite help but smile at that.

"And I'm still yours."

Then she kissed him. Softly at first, then demanding more. She was different, she was not as bold as she had been all those years ago, but he still knew her. He still loved her.

"I love you, Charles," she murmured, their trains of thought oddly synchronised, "I couldn't stop it. Goodness knows I tried." 

He smiled against her skin.

"I think I can forgive you for that," he remarked. He took her head firmly in his hands and kissed her brow. "I couldn't stop either."

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	4. Chapter 4

It had been so wonderful. Allowing him to know her again. Watching as he kissed her palms with a tenderness that threatened to make her weep again. It was true; she had never stopped loving him, not for a single second. She had ignored it studiously, pushed it desperately to the side, but hadn't been able to drive it out. Frightened as she was, emotionally exhausted, it was easy to let him take the lead and love her there and then, just as she'd missed. It was like coming home.

They lay there on the settee in his pantry once it was over. They had just made love in the middle of the day. Thank heaven that at this time most of the staff had duties that kept them upstairs and they were far enough from the kitchen not to be overheard. His body covered hers nicely, keeping her warm. She had not felt so young or so alive in many years. Fifteen years, to be precise. This was what life was about.

"Charles," she told him quietly, her voice not quite working properly yet, "I'll never leave you again. I promise you that."

She heard him shuffle contentedly at her neck, planting a kiss there.

"I'll marry you," she told him, "I'll marry you because I love you, and nothing else in the world matters to me at the moment." It was like singing her heart out, she could not stop, "I'm so sorry for everything I caused. I love you," There was nothing more to it than that, "I love you."

"Elsie," he told her softly, "You don't have to propose to me, you know," his voice had a definite fondness in it, "I think we've both proved that we're dedicated to each other."

But that wasn't what she meant.

"I know," she assured him, "But I still want to marry you. Because we do belong together. There's no other way of saying it. Do you understand?"

"I think I do," he replied. He was quite for a moment, contemplating the best way he could prove as much; "I love you too."

**End. **


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